Alex
Have you ever felt like your life turned into a fucking terrible movie? That’s exactly what I’m living through right now. What are the odds that your only remaining parent comes back from a Caribbean cruise and announces she’s met the love of her life? In a movie, it’s a cliché. In our reality, it’s just another trap. My brother Charlie and I were sitting on the couch when Evelin burst into the house. She hadn’t even put her keys down yet and she was already screaming from the hallway that we were moving. We both rolled our eyes simultaneously before giving her a brief, unenthusiastic greeting and turning back to the conversation she had just interrupted. But Evelin wasn’t that easily dismissed; she slammed the door and danced into the living room. She was practically glowing with happiness—that toxic, forced kind of happiness that, with her, always meant disaster. “We’re moving!” she blurted out, looking like she might float away at any second. Charlie and I exchanged a sharp look. The kind we always use when our mother spits out another load of bullshit to get us exactly where she wants us. “Good one, Mom,” Charlie muttered, not even looking up at her. I chose to focus on my phone rather than her. We thought it was just another one of her episodes fueled by a high blood-alcohol level, which was pretty usual for her. But after an hour of her monologue, it finally hit us—she was dead serious. “Are you out of your mind?” I snapped when L.A. entered the conversation. “We are not moving thousands of miles away for someone we’ve never even seen.” “You’ll meet him. He’s coming to see us as soon as he can,” she shot back with the expression of a lovesick schoolgirl. It didn’t fit her age or our past at all, but Evelin was a master of playing roles. I’m not saying I’d miss this house. With a few exceptions, nothing good ever happened here. Our family wasn’t exactly normal. Our parents’ relationship constantly escalated into violence, violence that Charlie and I had to protect her from. Even though I know she lived through hell, I can’t forgive her for how often she manipulated reality and blamed her mistakes on us. Our father would then take his rage out on my brother and me. To this day, we carry the scars on our bodies—souvenirs of her throwing us to the wolves just to save her own skin. We each escaped in our own way. Charlie turned to security systems; I turned to psychology. I wanted to understand what drives people to hurt others, while he wanted to ensure no one like that could ever get to us again. My psychology teacher once claimed that one of us wants to kill the snake before it bites, while the other lets themselves get bitten just to know how much it will hurt. I don’t think she read me right. For me, studying the human mind isn’t about finding out how much it hurts; it’s about making sure nothing ever hurts me again. It’s a way to see the attack coming before it even lands. I watched Evelin dance around the room, a single question flashing in my mind: What is this manipulative bitch trying to do with this move? We used to be a pretty ordinary family. That is, if you overlook the regular emergency room visits with stories about “falling down the stairs.” Our classic excuse whenever my father was in a bad mood and things ended worse than with a bruise you could hide under a long sleeve. That final incident changed everything when I was fourteen. My father got twenty years hard time in jail, and Evelin became a stranger to us. Charlie got away with a few physical scars, but his relationship with our mother was destroyed just as badly as mine. We became roommates. Living under one roof, but each of us completely on our own. Evelin tried to play the mother role at first, but after everything that happened, it just wasn’t possible anymore. She gave up quickly. She fed us and clothed us, sure, but my argument was that after the hell we endured, she owed us that bare minimum. I couldn’t listen to her monologues about a new life in L.A. anymore. With a transparent excuse, I slipped away to my room. Charlie followed me a few minutes later. “She’s probably lost it,” he noted, sitting on the edge of my bed. “Probably too much sun in the Caribbean,” I smirked, but my stomach was burning with anger. “Does she mean it?” he asked, staring blankly out the window. I didn’t answer. Charlie had a thousand reasons to stay here—school, friends, and Serena. I had no one. Only him. “I’m going to Serena’s,” he announced suddenly, standing up. But he paused at the door and slowly turned back to me. “I turn twenty-one in two months.” I looked at him, confused. “We can move out,” he added quietly. I offered a small smile and nodded, even though the thought made me sick to my stomach. He was already free. Charlie would be twenty-one and could go wherever the hell he wanted—Serena was his life jacket. I was only nineteen, and even though I was an adult, reality held me to Evelin tighter than any law ever could. I needed to finish school, and the few part-time gigs I managed to get barely covered the absolute necessities, let alone rent. I had nowhere to go. I was legally an adult, but without money or a safety net, I was chained to this family like a dog to a post. Charlie looked calmer, and I didn’t want to ruin that for him, so I just stayed quiet until he left. I was left alone in my room with my thoughts. The idea of Charlie leaving me here alone with Evelin terrified me more than moving to L.A. I thought about what it would be like to start over. To drop the weight that’s been dragging me down for years and leave for a place where no one knows my story. But starting over with Evelin breathing down on my neck? That’s not a fresh start. That’s just a transfer to a different cell. I got up from the bed and went downstairs. I found her in the kitchen, feverishly throwing things into the trash. She was discarding our past with such intensity, it looked like she was trying to sweep a crime scene. “Don’t you think we might need that?” I remarked, pulling my favorite Garfield mug out of the trash can. She shot me one of her condescending glares. It was always hard to have a conversation with her that didn’t end up in an explosion, but today I had to try. For Charlie’s sake. “Mom?” I called out to her. The word felt coarse in my throat. She hadn’t been a mother to me in years; I only used the title in emergencies. Most of the time, she was just Eva. She flinched at the word and turned around. “Yes?” “Charlie has his school here. And Serena...” I started, but she didn’t even let me take a breath. “Alex, some childhood romance and a sub-par school are really not going to convince me to stay. I’ve finally found happiness. Can you seriously not just be happy for me?” Her voice shifted into that victimized tone she mastered so perfectly. “After everything I’ve sacrificed for you two, you owe me at least this much.” I stared at her. According to her, the universe revolved entirely around her sacrifices. What exactly did she sacrifice for us? Her conscience, when she left us on the front lines? “I’m just saying Charlie has a life here,” I tried again, keeping my voice calmer. I hoped cold logic might work. It had the exact opposite effect. “Do you still not get it?!” she snapped at me, slamming a pan onto the table so violently that the Garfield mug slipped from my hand. The shards shattered across the floor, right by my bare feet. I watched the colorful pieces of porcelain. “What exactly don’t I get?” I asked, the calm in my voice giving way to open aggression. “That I have a right to be happy!” she screamed. “Go be happy, but not at our expense,” I shot back icily. “At your expense?” She let out a short, hysterical laugh. “You cannot be serious. Everything I ever did was for you!” I stayed silent. Arguing with a manipulator is like trying to quiet a storm by yelling at it. I turned to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?” She blocked my path. She loved these situations where she could push a conflict to the absolute edge. She needed to see me broken, not cold. “Out,” I said shortly. “You’ve always been like this,” she spat with a mocking sneer. “Like what?” I asked, even though I’d heard the answer a thousand times. “Cold. Ungrateful. Selfish.” I looked her straight in the eyes. Completely calm, without a single tremor in my voice, I delivered my final question: “And who made me that way?” I didn’t have time to react before I felt the sharp sting of a slap cut through the air like a blade. Honestly, I hadn’t expected anything else. Evelin was always quick to throw a slap, just like my father. It was a blow packed with all the accumulated bile she carried inside. Using the back of my hand, I wiped the blood from my split lip, never breaking eye contact. Evelin was breathing heavily. I stepped closer to her, until I could feel her wine-scented breath on my skin. “Is this how you plan to handle things in L.A. too?” I whispered, measuring her with pure disgust. “You’ll need to try harder, Eva. Because out there, nobody is going to care about your hysterical tantrums. You’ll be labeled as a trainwreck before you even finish unpacking your bags.” With those words, I looked her dead in the eye and walked out before she could recover. I spent the rest of the day at the auto shop. The smell of motor oil and gasoline was both my sanctuary and my punishment—it reminded me of my dad before he became inmate number one, but it also reminded me of Justin. Justin was the only adult who truly saw us. Ever since they locked my dad up for twenty years, Justin took down every single photo of his racing days from the shop walls. It was as if my dad’s existence had been erased. Only we remained—two living reminders of his failure. I didn’t get back home until dawn. The kitchen was empty, ransacked. Evelin was asleep. I crawled into bed, but after a short while, voices jolted me awake. “Mom, I want to stay here,” Charlie’s voice rang out. He had clearly just gotten home and seen the mess. “You and your sister are ungrateful brats! I only want what’s best for you!” Evelin shrieked. “And that’s moving in with some random guy?” Charlie’s voice was cracking. “He is not a random guy!” “Maybe not to you! I didn’t end up in bed with him, so I don’t know a damn thing about him!” Another slap. I closed my eyes and shoved my headphones in. Charlie wasn’t like me—he wouldn’t take it in silence. I could only hear the muffled thud of a door slamming, shaking the entire house. Just another day in our “happy” family. It wasn’t until around two o’clock in the afternoon that I dared to crawl out of my room. The house was dead quiet, so I attempted to escape. But the moment my hand touched the doorknob, the door swung open on its own. “Alex,” Evelin smiled at me, as if blood hadn’t been spilled yesterday. “This is Joe. Joe, this is my daughter, Alex.” He was standing right there. A guy in his early forties, athletic build, muscles that weren’t just for show. Dark hair styled into a neat mess with gray starting to pepper his temples. He was smiling, but that familiar warning sensation started burning in my stomach. I gave his hand a firm squeeze, and he didn’t let go until he finished reading me. I was forced to sit in the living room. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife while Evelin flawlessly executed her role as a loving mother. It was fascinating to watch her tell Joseph about my hobbies. Apparently, I love skiing. I have never stood on a pair of skis in my entire life. Joe was charisma personified. He and Evelin acted as if they’d known each other for years, not fourteen days on a cruise ship. He showered me with questions. School, the future, interests. I limited myself to one-word answers—yes, no, I don’t know. Nobody could expect me to confide in a guy who suddenly materialized on our doorstep. He was likeable, sure. But my psychology studies had taught me one major thing: the biggest manipulators always hide behind the most perfect smiles. And Joe’s smile was way too perfect. I learned that he owns an empire. A law firm called Sterling & Williams, passed down from generation to generation. It’s supposed to be taken over by his son, Nicolas—a future elite lawyer currently finishing his first semester with honors. A prominent little brat born with a golden spoon in his ass. Exactly what our household was missing. When Joe’s storytelling moved from the son to the grandfather, I rudely excused myself and bolted from the house. “Be home by ten, both of you!” Evelin barked after me. I sneered. She had never cared what time we came back before. Now she wants to play mother of the year in front of this clown? No way. I headed straight to Serena’s, having no doubt I’d find Charlie there. I lit a cigarette on the way to burn out the aftertaste of that atrocious conversation. I burst into her room, where Charlie was sprawled out across the bed. “Williams is here,” I snapped instead of a greeting. “Who?” he asked blankly, pulling on a shirt. “Who do you think? The millionaire.” Serena, who was already feverishly tapping away on her phone, simply whispered, “Lexi... he’s not a millionaire. He’s a billionaire. He has branches in twelve major European cities and twenty in the US.” I stared at the screen Serena was holding in front of my face, unable to believe my own eyes. The largest legal organization in the world. Billions in revenue. A scene straight out of a cheap movie where the main character meets a prince. It made zero sense. Why would a guy who could have any flawless woman from the cover of Forbes care about Evelin? She was slim and attractive, but time had taken its toll, as had her perpetual bottle of wine. And above all—what the hell would a billionaire be doing on a commercial cruise ship meant for the middle class? It defied all logic. Unless he wasn’t looking for love out there, but something else entirely. I left them to it and spent the rest of the day at Justin’s shop. I fell asleep in his office on the couch, smelling gasoline and old motor oil from the vintage van I’d been trying to fix for months. I didn’t make it home until the following evening. The place was boiling. Evelin was screaming at Charlie like a lunatic. “A real family idyll, I see,” I remarked, taking a seat on the couch. “Where have you been? I said ten o’clock!” she exploded at me. “I thought that theater was strictly for Joseph,” I shot back calmly. Evelin was inhaling for a counterattack when the doorbell rang. She flipped instantly. She smoothed down her dress, pasted on a radiant smile, and hissed at us: “Behave yourselfs, got it?!” She was fascinating. She could easily give actresses in L.A. a run for their money. Standing in the doorway was none other than Joe Williams. This time, his focus was on Charlie. He was fascinated by his ideas regarding IT and security. Charlie talked with him, but I just sat there with an expression that required no subtitles. Charlie discreetly kicked my ankle several times to get me to at least attempt looking human, but I’ve never excelled at keeping fake expression. Unlike my mother, I took pride in that. I didn’t know if Charlie was just playing along to keep the peace or if Joe actually intrigued him. The answer came quickly when Charlie impatiently cut through Joseph’s monologue with the question we’d both been waiting for: “What about my school? It’s here.” Joe looked genuinely surprised. “You didn’t tell them?” he asked, shifting his gaze to Evelin. “There hasn’t been time to discuss it yet,” she replied with that honeyed smile that made me want to gag. It was comical. She wants to move us in with someone she’s known for a few days, and she didn’t even bother to tell us what’s going to happen to us. Charlie kicked me under the table again, this time hard enough to hurt. “Great question, Charlie,” Joe praised him, as if he were his favorite student. “We absolutely need to go over the details of your future.” And then came a monologue that took my breath away. Joe had already decided everything. Charlie’s transfer to a prestigious university in L.A. was a done. And me, he “mercifully” pushed into the psychology program at the same school. I wanted to keep studying psychology, but the casual way Joe announced it was chilling. Like he could just snap his fingers and alter the laws of the universe. “I have a girlfriend here,” Charlie objected. Joe merely nodded calmly. “Eva told me about her. It would be wise for her to come with us. I spoke with her parents; they were thrilled at the prospect of Serena studying in L.A.” I stared at him. He’d already spoken to her parents too? Everything was arranged, signed, bought. I perceived the rest of the conversation as mere white noise. I was happy for my brother—for him, it was a life-changing win—but the ease with which these people moved the destinies of others was paralyzing. I excused myself, claiming I was tired. In my room, I feverishly searched Google. Joe Williams. Sterling & Williams. Billions. Success. But there wasn’t a single mention of his son, Nicolas. No photos, no scandals. It was like the family was a digital ghost. I understood what Evelin saw in Joseph. He was handsome, wealthy, and looked incredible for forty— sharp cheekbones, dark hair laced with early silver, charisma he could sell by the buckets. But it still didn’t add up. Why would this man voluntarily take a middle-aged woman with two adult kids into his home and foot the bill for them? In L.A., he could have anyone. A knock interrupted my thoughts. Charlie sat down next to me on the bed. “You good?” “Sure,” I nodded. We talked for hours. We knew everything about each other. “Will you and Serena make it work?” I asked. Serena was a beautiful blonde, calm and smart. She loved him unconditionally. Charlie had changed because of her—from a kid who just played video games to a man who started putting in real work. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see,” Charlie smiled. He looked at peace. I didn’t share that peace. The prospect of moving into a polished prison with a billionaire and his invisible son triggered the very instincts that had kept me alive until now. I knew that in L.A., we wouldn’t be guests. We would be debtors. And people like Joe Williams collect their debts with interest. I barely slept a wink that night. The sound of packing tape and the rustle of boxes from the next room were constant reminders that escape wasn’t an option. Evelin wasn’t sleeping either—I could hear her sharp footsteps, acting as if she were already parading through her new estate in Beverly Hills. I hoped the night would blur these grim prospects a bit, but it failed. Wiser in the morning? Bullshit. I woke up to total chaos. Evelin had decided that the house where we survived nineteen years would be erased from the face of the earth within fourteen days. Clothes were scattered everywhere; books were piled in corners like garbage. “The house is going on the market. We have two weeks to clear it out,” she announced with icy calm between discarding items. “Only take what you absolutely need. The rest stays.” The rest. Our entire life up to this point was just excess baggage to her, something to dump so she could start with a clean shield in L.A. The following two weeks dissolved into a single, never-ending purgatory. Packing your entire existence into two suitcases while finishing finals, all while Eva reveled in her role as a grand lady, was a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. Naturally, she didn’t show up for graduation. It didn’t surprise me, but it stung. I smiled for Justin, Charlie, and Serena, who stood in her place, while mentally telling Evelin to go to hell. Joe tried to buy me off. Every time I hesitated over an old possession, he’d rush in, promising to buy me a newer, better version in L.A. He didn’t understand that I didn’t want new things. I didn’t want to be someone else. I didn’t want to be a debtor in his golden cage. The only thing keeping my head above water was knowing that in a few weeks, I’d be leaving for E.R.T.—which was a type of comprehensive training camp for future paramedics, firefighters, police, or military. Three months without this comedy routine. But then came the blow. Charlie approached me, stating he was spending the summer with Serena and her parents. He wouldn’t arrive in L.A. until October. “You’re leaving me there alone with them?” I snapped at him, gesturing toward the living room where Joe and Eva were currently mapping out our “new life.” “Lexi, I can’t just walk away from Serena. Her parents won’t let her leave for the summer,” he defended himself. I wanted to kill him, but I saw the immense relief on his face when Joe agreed. I wanted him to be happy. And he was happy, but with her. Charlie took me by the shoulders and looked me dead in the eye. “Just don’t let them turn you into a snob, Lexi,” he muttered with a half-smile that carried genuine worry. I just shoved him away, and he pulled me into a hug. “We’ll come for you. I promise,” he whispered. And then the day arrived. I threw my duffel bag into the trunk of the brand-new Range Rover Joe had purchased and climbed in. I watched Charlie and Serena standing outside our old house, holding hands, completely free. I felt like an inmate being transferred to a different penitentiary. My head was pounding from the alcohol at the farewell party. I needed to turn my brain off last night just to be able to step into this car today. “You’re going to love it there, Alex, you’ll see,” Evelin pulled me from my thoughts. Lately, she’d been trying on a more mother-like approach. Maybe Joseph instructed her to act like a human being. I gave her a faint smile. Effort is appreciated, but with her, I was always waiting for the moment the smile would turn back into a slap. The Range Rover surged forward, and I watched in the mirror as my home shrank in the distance until it vanished completely. I shared absolutely nothing with Eva. Nobody would ever guess we were mother and daughter. I was the spitting image of my father. Dark hair, green eyes, and a petite, athletic frame. But the resemblance didn’t stop at looks—I inherited his dangerous passion for cars and high speed. He taught me to drive before I could properly walk. My father was a NASCAR driver, and the mood at home hinged depend on his track performance. He either returned as a champion or as a frustrated abuser. After his accident, the violence became a daily routine. Charlie and I would hide in closets, under beds, anywhere. Sometimes it was Evelin who gave us away. As kids, we used to defend her, taking the hits in her place, but she quickly learned to exploit our loyalty. She’d let us get beaten for things we hadn’t done, and then call us liars on top of it. A past like that simply scars your relationship with your mother. It was also why I spent my nights at illegal street races. The adrenaline was the only way to drown out the silence in the house. I knew that in a polished L.A. neighborhood, I’d have to give up that part of myself. But what else would I have to sacrifice for her dream? “My name is Alexandra Jean Wenturi, my mother is insane, my father is in prison, and my brother and I balance on the edge of the law. We’ll fit into L.A. perfectly,” I thought, unable to suppress a bitter smile. “I like it when you smile,” Eva remarked suddenly. I stiffened. “You’re acting weird,” I snapped. She goes days without noticing I’m not home, and now she’s commenting on my smile? “I’m trying to act like your mother. Let me,” she sighed. “Alex, can we start over? All the bad things are gone. I want to finally provide schools, a home... everything for you guys.” I stared at her. “Did he coach you to say that?” “No. It’s just that for the first time, I feel safe with him. I know my behavior wasn’t always right. But I deserve to be happy too. Can’t you want that for me?” It was the longest conversation we had ever had. I felt the heavy weight of sentimentality. Maybe it was the lingering alcohol in my system or the way our old house was fading into the distance, but for the first time, I saw her as a human being caught in a trap between “something” and “nothing.” Charlie and I had our lives ahead of us. She didn’t. “You’re right,” I said finally. Eva had tears in her eyes. Maybe it was just as hard for her as it was for me. But that psychology teacher’s voice about snakes kept echoing in my head. Was this the start of a new relationship, or just perfectly prepared ground for what lay ahead in L.A.? I barely spoke for the rest of the drive. I just listened to Eva. She rambled about the “fresh start,” the luxury, that mythical house, and about Nick, who was supposedly absolutely wonderful. To me, this information just brought more chaos. What I would have give to just pin the throttle to the floor and drive straight into the sunset until the wind blew all this shit out of my head. After dark, we pulled into a beachfront hotel. Eva hated driving in the dark, and letting me take the wheel? The thought never even crossed her mind. She assumed my father had traumatized me to the point where I was afraid to sit behind a steering wheel. I had traumas, sure, but definitely not from driving. I just felt no need to explain to her that I spend my nights tearing through illegal races. In fact, neither she nor Joe even knew that Charlie and I had licenses. In the hotel room, I was finally alone. Eva fell asleep immediately after a call with Joseph. I texted Damon. Damon wasn’t just a friend; he was my partner on the E.R.T. team. Three months out of the year, I spent my time with people I trusted more than my own blood. We were a team—five people who had been through psychological and physical hell together. High-risk deployments, sleepless nights, hitting absolute rock bottom. Charlie joined once and that was enough for him—he was more into computers—but me? I found my real family there. Damon replied within a minute. A few texts from him lifted my mood more than this entire road trip. Even if L.A. turned out to be hell on earth, E.R.T. was my light at the end of the tunnel. Eva woke me up early the next morning. We faced another twelve hours in the car. Along the way, she gushed about Paris—apparently, Joe is planning an engagement. Yes, you heard that right. A wedding. Paris was the only thing that caught my attention. I’d watched all five seasons of Emily in Paris with Serena and Charlie (who only survived it because of us), and we’d promised each other we’d go there someday. Now that dream was coming true, but at a price I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay. I realized that Charlie might have lost far more through this move than I did. My friends were scattered across the States, and we only gathered for training camps. He had all his happiness right there in Indiana. I watched the highway roll past, mentally preparing myself to enter a world where I didn’t belong. A world of lawyers, billionaires, and perfect golden boys. “When are you guys planning to go?” I asked as palms began to blur past the window. “Sometime at the end of July,” Evelin replied casually, as if she were talking about buying groceries. “Then that’s too bad. I’ll be at camp, and Charlie is at Serena’s.” Evelin looked at me without a shred of pity. “It would be better if you skipped your little camp this year. I spoke with Joseph about it, and perhaps you should stay with us for the summer.” A wave of panic seized right through me. E.R.T. was more than just some camp—it was my second home, my sanity. “You can’t be serious.” “I’m giving you a choice, Alexandra,” she interrupted me, and I felt that this was exactly what this entire trip had been building toward. “Joe is important to me. Just as it’s important that his social circle accepts us. I will give you and Charlie everything. In return, all I want is for you to behave decently and not talk about what happened at home. With your father.” “Simply put, you’re blackmailing me to make sure I don’t embarrass you. Got it,” I snapped. She wanted the image of a perfect family. She wanted to erase the blood on the floor and the slaps she dealt us in exchange for a polished life. “I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut. Is that enough?” “Yes,” she smiled triumphantly. “And we’ll fly to Paris in the autumn. They say it’s more beautiful then.” I spent the rest of the journey with my headphones on. The music thudded in my head, but it couldn’t drown out the feeling that I was becoming an extra in my mother’s new game of perfection. I felt backed into a corner. Evelin naively thought she could buy us. In a conversation with Joseph that I overheard a few days ago, she bragged about our grades and how much effort she’d put into our education. She lied. Charlie paid for his own school by installing security cameras, and she knew absolutely nothing about my studies. Her entire fresh start was built on one massive lie. Staring out the window at the passing highway, I kept reminding myself who I was. L.J. Not Alexandra Williams, not Wenturi’s daughter. Just someone who needs to survive these two weeks and disappear. I felt like a caged animal being transported to a new, more luxurious zoo. Would my new stepbrother be there? Would he look at me with the same contempt Joe showed toward our old belongings? Doubts twisted in my stomach like cold snakes. Every mile closer to L.A. was a mile further from everything that was real. Eva sat next to me, focused on driving, looking so content it made my stomach turn. She sold us out for marble floors and a promise that we’d never see blood on the carpet again. But blood isn’t that easily washed away. It stays inside us. “We’re here,” she pulled me from my thoughts. I pulled my headphones out and stared outside. L.A. wasn’t a city of dreams; it was a city of contrasts. Glitzy boulevards lined with glass skyscrapers gave way to filthy corners where people who had nothing left to lose sprawled on the sidewalks. It fascinated me—the rot hidden beneath a ton of gold. We exited the highway and began climbing into the hills. The grit and noise of the lowlands faded into sterile perfection. The roads up here were smooth as glass, lined with palm trees that looked like someone went out and polished them every morning. I observed the massive estates hidden behind wrought-iron gates. Each house was like a fortress— white facades, endless driveways, and lawns so green it felt unnatural. Quiet was everywhere. That eerie, expensive kind of quiet where you hear nothing but the hum of automated sprinklers and the distant drone of air conditioning units. “You’re going to love it here, Alex,” Evelin remarked, that victorious euphoria evident in her voice. Watching us pass another house that looked more like a museum of modern art, I seriously doubted I could ever love it here. Everything was for show. Every bush was trimmed to a perfect right angle; no old bicycles lying around, no oil stains anywhere. It was a flawless masquerade concreted into the hills. We turned into a street that looked like it was ripped straight out of a glossy magazine. Evelin began to slow down, eventually coming to a halt before a massive wrought-iron gate featuring a prominent, heavy monogram: W. “This is where we’re living?” I breathed out. My voice sounded foreign, almost like it didn’t belong to me. I felt my throat tighten. This was definitely no place for people like me. Evelin merely nodded and used a remote control to open the gate. We drove through the main entrance into a massive park. The grass was mowed with millimeter precision; the trees cast shadows like a deep forest. A white marble driveway curved all the way up to a house that looked like a modern palace. It wasn’t a cold, modern box, but a grand structure with intricate balconies and an endless number of windows. When we stopped in front of the house, Joe emerged from the doors. And behind him stood twelve other people in uniforms. “Who is that?” I looked over at Evelin. “Well, Joe...” she smirked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I rolled my eyes. “I mean the others...” I breathed, watching the lineup of people. “Staff,” Evelin replied matter-of-factly. Yet, I couldn’t remember her ever picking up so much as a dirty sock at home, let alone knowing what to do with a household staff. Evidently, I was looking like a total idiot because Evelin literally shoved me and hissed to act normal. Damn it, where am I? Without any trouble, I identified a chef, a gardener, maids, and a guy in shorts who was likely a lifeguard. I didn’t want to get out of the car. But Evelin had already thrown herself at Joe as if she hadn’t seen him in years, and I felt ridiculous just sitting there like a lump. I opened the door. Instantly, the salty ocean air hit me—a mix of salt, pine needless, and something pure. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The scent calmed me for a second. When I opened my eyes, they were still standing there. Twelve people, silently watching me. “The gardener sure has his hands full here,” I noted sarcastically into the silence. Nobody smiled. Joe finally noticed me and walked over to welcome me. With a hug. It felt uncomfortable letting a stranger invade my personal space, but I’d promised to be polite, so I gave him a somewhat rigid pat on the back. “Welcome home,” he declared brightly, gesturing toward the house. I swallowed hard on nothing. I felt like a prison gate had just slammed shut behind me. We ascended the marble steps toward the staff. Joe began introducing them to me like items in a catalog: the chef, a personal trainer, two maids, a gardener, a lifeguard, a driver named Daniel, a second driver, and four security guards. I tried to nod at each name, but only one thought echoed in my mind: We are white trash that just infiltrated this place. The staff was either extremely professional, or they already hated my guts. I only remembered Daniel, since he was close to my age. But why on earth does one man need this many people? We stepped into the grand foyer. It looked like the lobby of a five-star hotel. A marble staircase spiraled up to the second floor right in the center; everything was bright, spacious, and disgustingly tasteful. “Let’s start with the garage,” Joe suggested. The garage was three times larger than our old house. Four black Mercedes vehicles were parked inside, with space left for another six cars. The cleanliness was so sterile you could have performed surgery on the floor. From the garage, we moved into a lounge area featuring a bar overflowing with every color of alcohol imaginable. A pool table, darts, table football, and a massive couch built directly into the floor. At home, the only darts we had were pinned to a tree outside. But what completely floored me was the private bowling alley. I stood there staring at the polished pins. I’d spent my entire life just trying to survive, and now I was going to live in a house where people throw heavy balls at expensive wood just to kill time. It was all far too perfect. And I knew that in settings this flawless, the darkest filth hides the best. The tour continued, and I slowly ran out of words. A kitchen with a marble island, a living room with a couch on which could sleep an entire army, and French windows that turned the ocean view into a live painting spanning the wall. But that was just the beginning. Behind the marble staircase lay a world I’d only seen in movies. A professional gym, an indoor pool, and a private spa. The scent of lavender, massage tables, a sauna, and a hot tub. Then a wine cellar that resembled a bank vault. The only place I was forbidden to enter without permission was Joseph’s private study. I understood the reason—as a lawyer, he held plenty of secrets. I had mine too. Upstairs, Evelin stopped in front of a white door directly opposite the stairs. “This is your room,” she said, watching me intently. I opened it, and my heart nearly skipped a beat. The room was flooded with the amber light of the setting sun. A massive bed, an Apple computer, a vanity stocked with makeup, and a bathroom styled in gray tones with a walk-in shower and a tub I could submerge myself in to forget the entire world. But the terrace was the best part. A view of the ocean and the private beach that belonged to the property. “It’s beautiful,” I managed to say. For the first time, I wasn’t faking it. “We have one more surprise,” Evelin smiled, opening another door. A walk-in closet. A massive room filled with clothes I’d never purchased. Sneakers, heels, jewelry, sunglasses. My entire life up to this point fit into two suitcases, and here an arsenal awaited a princess I had never been. “I told you if you behaved, I’d give you everything,” Evelin remarked as she left. I just sneered. Everything comes with a price. The moment they left, I immediately called Charlie. “Dude, he has a bowling alley and a private beach in the house,” I whispered into the phone, sending him photos. Charlie just listened in disbelief. I ran a bath, feeling the highway dust and the tension melt away. Afterward, with damp hair, I sat on the terrace and let the ocean breeze wash over me. But my stomach soon dragged me back to reality. I slipped out of my room like a thief and headed down to find the kitchen. “Miss,” a voice made me nearly jump, “forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the chef spoke up. “No, I should apologize, I’m lurking around here like a thief,” I blurted out awkwardly. It felt terrible having this older woman address me so formally. She refused to let me leave with just a piece of bread, and within minutes, she set down a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me. My attempts to help with the dishes were firmly shut down. “It’s my job, and I love it,” she smiled. I took the plate and retreated back to my safe haven on the terrace. I ate dinner alone, watching the sun sink into the ocean, trying to comprehend how the daughter of an abuser and an insane mother ended up with a closet larger than her old bedroom. The evening dragged on like an endless blur. Every creak of the floorboards in this massive palace made me freeze. I felt like an intruder in my own room. What if Joe burst in right now demanding a “family chat”? Or worse, what if I ran into my new stepbrother in the hallway? Eventually, though, exhaustion from the long journey took over, and I fell asleep. The bed was so incredible that, for the first time in years, I didn’t wake up from a nightmare. I got up early. The house was peaceful and quiet. I wanted to go for a run and finish before the house woke up, avoiding their stares. I bolted outside, passing through the gate that opened automatically before me like something out of a sci-fi movie, and headed for the ocean. The sun was just rising. I ran all the way to the end of a wooden pier. Only there did I stop. I leaned against the railing, which was damp with morning mist. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. The air here was different. Crisp, heavy with salt, and so clean it stung my lungs. In Indiana, the air tasted of dry dirt and exhaust fumes; here, it tasted of a freedom I didn’t know how to grasp. I opened my eyes and looked back toward the villa, which loomed over the cliff like a white fortress. I didn’t want to go back; I didn’t belong there. Just the thought of returning made me feel sick. An eight-mile run along the coast finally cleared my head. By the time I returned, the house was alive. Evelin came over to plant a kiss on my cheek—a gesture so unnatural it almost made me forget how to breathe. Doris, the chef whose name I finally knew, had prepared eggs and a bagel for me. “Have you spoken to Charlie? He isn’t answering my calls,” Evelin complained. “He’s probably with Serena,” I replied cautiously. Charlie told me yesterday that he simply wasn’t in the mood for her and was ghosting her. Serves her right. Evelin and Joe left, leaving me alone in the massive palace. I decided to try the pool. In the closet, I’d found bikinis that cost more than my old Mustang—three thousand dollars for a scrap of fabric? Madness. By the pool, Daniel the driver interrupted me. A nice guy with blue-gray eyes, who was the only one not piercing me with his gaze. “You’re going to get burnt,” he remarked casually. “And you’re not going to tan,” I smirked back at his suit. He seemed normal. Like someone who didn’t belong here either, even though he worked here. When the sun hit its peak, I escaped into the air-conditioned living room. In the kitchen, I ran into Doris and three other staff members. They immediately jumped up from their coffee. “You don’t need to stand up on my account,” I smiled at them. “It isn’t proper for the young lady to see us like this,” Doris countered. “And why not? You’re more at home here than I am,” I said, moving on to explore the rest of the floor. A room for Charlie, a room for Serena... everything laid out, polished, dead. One door was locked. The famous Nicolas’s room. A chill seemed to radiate from it. Then I went down to the indoor pool, but turned right back around. The dark water and enclosed space triggered old memories of hiding in tight closets, where Charlie and I would gasp for air. Just as I returned to the foyer, Evelin and Joe burst in. “Alex, the Waltons are coming for dinner tonight,” Joe announced. His friends. “Fix yourself up, please,” Evelin added, running her eyes over me from head to toe. “They’ll be here in two hours.” I watched her walk into the kitchen and start bossing Doris around like some slave. It made me sick. As soon as they vanished upstairs to “fix themselves up,” I went into the kitchen to join Doris. The guilt in my stomach was stronger than hunger. Doris let me chop onions. It was a silent alliance. A few words, peace, and the feeling that I was doing something useful. When she sent me off to get ready, I knew I wasn’t squeezing into any of those “princess” dresses. I opted for a t-shirt and shorts. Evelin threw a fit, but Joe backed me up—claiming I looked great. It was the first small victory of the evening. Then the Waltons arrived. Bob was your typical lawyer in a suit, but his wife, Sara... she was from another planet. Long legs, an elegant dress, and an expression like something constantly smelled bad right under her nose. Their son, Peter, conversely looked easygoing. A twenty-year-old medical student with a roguish smirk. Dinner was purgatory. Sara literally grilled Evelin. Awkward questions flew while Sara bragged about trips to Dubai and Abu Dhabi. Evelin was out of her depth. For the first time, I felt something resembling solidarity with her. We looked at each other, the same expression in our eyes: What the hell is wrong with these people? Then the spotlight shifted to me. Sara questioned me about my studies, my plans, and even whether I had a job yet—as if I were a burden freeloading on Joseph’s wealth. I stuck to one-word answers. A distinct hostility radiated from me, and I didn’t bother hiding it. “And do you have a boyfriend?” she fired off suddenly. I nearly choked on my water. Peter had to drop his head to keep from laughing out loud. “No,” I cleared my throat, looking her dead in the eye. “Are you planning on setting me up with someone?” That shut her up. Once dinner wrapped up, Peter offered to take me for a drive around L.A. Normally, I’d tell him where to shove it, but the prospect of another evening in this marble prison was worse. I changed into my “armor”—tight black jeans, a white tank top, and a leather jacket. Finally, I felt like myself. Peter led me to his car. A bright yellow Chevrolet Corvette. A beauty, even if the color was a bit much. But when he fired it up and that engine rumbled, my heart leapt. This was the sound of freedom I’d been craving since we left Indiana. “Shall we?” Peter asked, gesturing to the passenger seat. I smirked, feeling genuine excitement for the first time since arriving in L.A. “Have you met Nicolas yet?” Peter casual asked, offering a mischievous wink. “No,” I replied curtly. “I’ve known Nick since we were kids. Typical pretty boy who has everything. You’ll see for yourself.” Mentally, I rolled my eyes. Great, another arrogant rich kid to add to the collection. The drive into the desert was quiet and uncomfortable. Peter’s nice-guy facade dropped the moment he pinned the throttle. “Not scared, are you?” he smirked. “Maybe you should be the one who’s scared,” I shot back. I knew how to defend myself, but he viewed me as easy prey. “If I wanted to, you’d already be mine,” he let slip, uttering the most pathetic line of the evening. He disgusted me. “Your mom mentioned you liked it in Indiana, but this is a whole different level, right?” Peter noted, placing his hand on the back of my seat, his fingers nearly brushing my shoulder. “Take your hand off,” I said calmly, but my voice was pure ice. He chuckled, but let his hand slide a bit lower. He was the type of guy who didn’t understand the word no, because nobody had ever punished him for it. I watched the surroundings shift. The glittering storefronts of Rodeo Drive and the towering palms gradually faded in the mirror. Peter exited the highway, and suddenly we were in an entirely different world. Concrete overpasses covered in graffiti, rusting fences, and a darkness pierced only by feeble streetlamps. The air began to reek of asphalt and smog. Suddenly, a crimson glow from flares cut through the dark. I peered into the distance where the horizon was staining red, as if the desert itself were on fire. The closer we got, the more I felt the bass thumping under my skin. The music wasn’t just audible; it vibrated through me, forcing my heart to sync to its rhythm. I felt a rush of excitement that I had been desperately missing over the past few days. I glanced at Peter; he had finally taken his hand off my seat and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. If I liked illegal races in Indiana, what I was looking at now was from another universe. Dust kicked up by hundreds of wheels, fire licking the edges of metal barrels, and the roar of engines sounding like the growls of wounded beasts. My heart hammered. I couldn’t resist that blend of noise and raw, unfiltered freedom. I might be living in the most luxurious district of L.A. now, surrounded by marble and silence, but I belonged here. On this burning sand, surrounded by exhaust fumes, the stench of burning rubber, and gasoline coating the roof of my mouth. I took a deep breath. Instead of clean ocean air, I dragged that smoggy cocktail into my lungs. It burned my throat, but at the same time, it anchored me. It reminded me of home. It reminded me of E.R.T. It reminded me of who I truly am when I strip off the mask of the obedient daughter Evelin wanted me to be. Before we came to a stop, we drove past rows of gorgeous, expensive, and absurdly polished cars. It was an exhibition you’d expect in a showroom, but instead of a sterile hall and reflections from spotlights, there was only dirty sand and darkness. Dodges, Porsches, Audis, Mustangs... they all looked like they’d just rolled off the assembly line before someone dragged them out here into the dirt. We parked between a snow-white McLaren and a black Lamborghini. Peter’s yellow Corvette glowed between them like a reflective strip on a highway. I slowly climbed out of the car and looked around. In that moment, I felt pure, unadulterated happiness. That smell of high-octane fuel and burnt rubber was better to me than the most expensive perfume from Sephora. Cars were racing each other on a makeshift, winding track outlined by burning barrels. They were positioned dangerously close together—one mistake and the multi-thousand-dollar paint job was destroyed. I was currently watching a dark green Bentley Continental trying to tear through a corner. On the deep sand, however, its rear slid out uncontrollably in the third chicane. Engaging all four wheels was more of an adversary than an asset at this point; the electronics battled for traction that they simply stood no chance of finding on the loose surface. “Amateur,” I muttered to myself. Having a herd of horses under the hood is one thing, but knowing how to break them on dirt requires more than just a fat checkbook. “Hey, Alex!” Peter shouted at me, and I reluctantly tore my eyes away from the Bentley futilely fighting for traction. “I want to introduce you to someone,” he added, grabbing my hand and dragging me along as if I didn’t know how to walk by myself. We pushed through the crowd until we reached a group of people leaning against polished hoods. Every single one of them had a red bandana tied somewhere on their body. On a wrist, around an ankle, or carelessly dangling from a pocket. Must be an L.A. fashion accessory, flashed through my mind, and I had to suppress a chuckle. It struck me as ridiculous. Given everything I’d been a part of in E.R.T., I knew that this was usually how real gangs marked themselves in zones these people wouldn’t dare drive into after dark. Except these clowns playing with their dads’ credit cards didn’t have the slightest clue. They scanned me with their eyes as if I were some bizarre souvenir Peter brought back from the countryside. Girls in high heels were twisting around, their shoes sinking into the sand, alongside guys who looked like the heaviest thing they’d ever held was an iPhone 17 Pro. If they were playing at gang warfare, I genuinely felt sorry for them. To me, it wasn’t a rebellion; it was a costume party. Peter introduced me like another line item in a catalog, a new toy he brought out to show his buddies. If only they knew how deeply uninterested I was in this introduction. If I could, I’d just hop into one of those cars and show them all what a real desert race looks like. Most of the group looked like they were copied out of a fashion magazine, but then a girl detached herself from the side of a pickup truck. She was different. She was the only one in this crowd who didn’t look like she’d spent five hours in front of a mirror perfecting her eyeliner. She just wore an oversized t-shirt, shorts, and unlaced combat boots that had clearly seen some mileage. She was stunning, dark-skinned, and carried that specific expression of someone who has already seen it all and can’t be impressed by anything. I saw a piece of myself in her—the kind of calm you possess only when you know what you’re capable of and don’t need to prove it to anyone with expensive clothes. “Tyra,” she said, offering her hand. Her grip was firm and dry, not the sweaty palm of a princess. “Where did you drop in from?” she asked casually, while engines roared around us so loudly you couldn’t hear your own conscience. “Honestly? No idea,” I said completely upfront. I wasn’t in the mood to play any games. I was exhausted from the facade at the villa, from Joseph, from Evelin, and from how everyone was trying to map out my life. She just offered a small smile. It wasn’t fake; it was more an expression of understanding. “You here with Peter?” she asked. I glanced over my shoulder at Peter. He was currently leaning against his yellow Corvette, deploying his practiced smile to impress a girl who possessed more sequins than sense. He looked like an ad for cheap cologne. “Unfortunately,” I muttered. Tyra laughed openly now. “You don’t exactly look thrilled about it,” she remarked, watching Peter attempt to dazzle the sequined girl. I just smirked at her and left the situation un-commented. Peter was merely a necessary evil to me right now. “First time here?” Tyra asked, curiosity entering her voice. I gave a barely perceptible nod, shifting my attention to another car on the track—this time a modified Nissan attempting a clean drift, though it was failing catastrophically on this sand. “We just moved here,” I said curtly. “And how are you liking it so far?” Tyra’s voice sounded amused. She noticed that the cars held my attention far more than our conversation. It was one of the few things I liked about her—she didn’t force it. “Not particularly,” I answered honestly. “Right now, I’m waiting to meet my new stepbrother, who hasn’t bothered to show up at home yet.” I didn’t care what Tyra thought of me. I spoke the truth. The entire concept of playing the perfect family at dinner with some man in suit who’s afraid to get his hands dirty irritated me more than that Nissan in the turn. Tyra was inhaling to ask another question, but the arrival of a red Ferrari ruined it for her. In that split second, I ceased to exist to her. A loud cheer erupted around us instantly. It was like a commanded reflex. Everyone wearing a red bandana mobilized, moving toward the car like a single wave. Including Tyra. Without a single word or apology, she left me standing there with a half-empty beer in hand, leaning against the rear of a stranger’s pickup. The Ferrari, accompanied by its loud entourage, rolled up to the starting line, dust swirling under the stampede of hundreds of feet. Alongside it, a dark green Mustang positioned itself with a provocative rev of its engine. It was instantly surrounded by its own fan club—this time sporting green bandanas. They must have it divided by car colors, like some twisted daycare for adults. Regardless, it was pretty amusing. I watched the theater from a distance, leaning against the pickup, feeling like the only sober person at a really terrible party. Reds versus Greens. Apparently, in L.A., it wasn’t enough to have a V8 under the hood; you needed your own army of cheerleaders waving a piece of cloth in front of your windshield. I lit a cigarette and, through a plume of smoke, watched the red Ferrari and the green Mustang line up on the mark. When the start dropped, the roar of engines tore through the air. The Ferrari launched with surgical precision, whereas the Mustang left entirely too much rubber on the start line—the driver didn’t know how to manage the clutch and power, just blindly stomping on the gas. The Ferrari held the upper hand, but even so, I spotted the flaws. In the first hairpin, he went too hard on the brakes, losing the ideal line. The Mustang had a chance at undercutting him there if the driver hadn’t been so terrified of the burning barrels and had actually committed to the move. Coming out of the third turn, the Ferrari hesitated slightly during a gear shift—I heard that brief stutter in the RPMs; the synchronization wasn’t flawless, or he simply had a heavy foot. At this technical level, it was more a battle of egos than clean racing. The Ferrari ultimately crossed the finish line first, but to me, it wasn’t a victory of talent—just a victory of better technology under the hood. Another massive cheer broke out, making my ears ring. The red bandanas went wild, people rushing toward the track as if they’d won a war and not just some insignificant race in the sand. I took a drag from my cigarette and blew the smoke toward the celebrating crowd. The Ferrari came to a halt with a final purr, and a dark-haired guy stepped out slowly, almost lazily. The black t-shirt he wore clung tightly to his shoulders and muscular arms—it was obvious this guy didn’t just spend his time in libraries; he possessed strength in his body and knew how to use it. He looked like an advertisement for bad ideas. He carried that strain of dangerous attraction that makes girls forget their common sense and makes guys either want to hit him in the face or slavishly serve him. The crowd around him was practically frantic. He, however, didn’t react to the cheering at all. No victory gesture, no smile. He just stood there, looking like he belonged to a different world than the screaming people surrounding him. As he turned toward me, I caught his icy stare. It was as if he contained no emotion whatsoever—no joy from winning, no adrenaline, nothing. His blue eyes were like ice cubes, sharp and transparent. A chill ran down my spine because of them. I took another drag from my cigarette. With the arrival of more cars at the starting line, the crowd dispersed to clear the track. Tyra approached the pickup again, looking a bit out of breath. “Did you see him?” she asked, a spark in her eyes. “Who?” I replied coldly, blowing smoke into the dark. “The guy in the Ferrari! He’s hot, right?” she noted, nodding appreciatively toward the red vehicle. I just rolled my eyes. “He’s got a decent car,” I added boredly. “Oh no,” Tyra gasped suddenly as a tattooed guy began approaching the pickup. The crowd subconsciously parted to clear his path. He looked like the definition of a bad idea. Tattoos crawled up his neck, disappearing under a white tank top, and his movements were entirely too relaxed, as if every muscle held a hidden spring primed to snap. But his expression was the most terrifying part. He wore a smirk on his face that I’d compare to the Joker—wide, unnatural, and full of a madness that didn’t stop at his lips but extended into his dark, restless eyes. “What do we have here?” he said with that repulsive smile, looking directly at me. I ignored the wave of revulsion rising in my throat. I just took another drag from my cigarette and exhaled the smoke in his direction. The gray cloud dissipated against his face, but he didn’t even blink. “Cameron, go away,” Tyra challenged him. A hint of fear was audible in her voice, which she tried to mask, but I could detect it from yards away. I watched with a cold expression and total detachment. These people always thought they were better then the rest of us. They thought a few tattoos and a crazed look made them rulers of the world. In E.R.T., we encountered “idiots” like this in every other godforsaken town. Usually, they ended up with their faces in the dirt before they could finish a sentence. “Are you new here?” Cameron asked, never breaking eye contact. I felt him scanning me from head to toe. His gaze felt like the touch of something filthy. Before I could answer, Tyra defiantly stepped in front of me. She did it so sharply her braids whipped against her shoulders. She wanted to protect me, even though I saw her muscles trembling slightly from the tension under her skin. “Leave her alone, Cameron,” Tyra snapped. “She’s here with Peter. She’s with us.” Cameron let out a slow, guttural laugh. The sound was like rusting metal grinding together. “With Peter? Then he should be taking better care of her,” he drawled, his gaze locking back onto me, this time laced with a threat. “He must have forgotten to give her a bandana, since I don’t see her wearing one,” he added, taking another step closer. Tyra turned to me, confused, as if under the weight of Cameron’s pressure she was actually searching my clothes for even a thread of red fabric. When it hit her that there was nothing, pure terror flickered in her eyes. She turned to me instantly, ripping her own red bandana off her wrist, and awkwardly tried to tie it onto my arm. “Here, take it,” she whispered feverishly. I watched her actions with mounting disgust. Not at her, but at this absurd situation. I felt like a piece of livestock requiring a brand to keep the wolves from eating it. Cameron was visibly amused by the theater. He leaned against the hood of the pickup right next to us, watching Tyra’s futile efforts with that Joker-like smirk. “A bit late, don’t you think, Tyra?” Cameron muttered mockingly, watching her fingers struggle to tighten the knot. As soon as Tyra finally managed to knot the cloth on my arm, she turned back to Cameron with a victorious smirk on her face. That expression froze on her lips the exact second Cameron stepped dangerously close to us again. “So... if you claim she’s with you,” Cameron began slowly, filtering the words through that repulsive smile as he tilted his head, “then she can run the next race with me.” If Tyra had been scared before, now she completely froze. The color drained from her face so fast I worried she might faint right into the sand. “Cam, I...” she stammered, her voice snapping mid-word. “What’s the matter, Tyra? Suddenly she isn’t with you anymore?” Cameron said smoothly, closing the distance until he stood barely inches from her. He leaned into her face, and I saw Tyra instinctively close her eyes. This repulsive display of dominance was halted by an incredibly cold voice that spoke up directly behind my back. “Do you have a problem, Cameron?” It was only a few words, but they sounded like ice cracking on a frozen lake. The voice was so dangerously calm that despite the blistering heat, a chill shot down my back and goosebumps broke out over my skin. There was no anger in it—just the absolute, crushing composure of someone who knows they hold all the cards. Turning toward the voice, I saw the guy who had driven the red Ferrari. Up close, he looked even more dangerous. He stood there with his hands shoved into the pockets of a black hoodie, shoulders relaxed, but something in his posture screamed: Try it, and it will be the last thing you ever do. Those blue eyes of his weren’t just cold now; they were like blades aimed directly at Cameron’s throat. Cameron slowly backed away from Tyra’s face. His Joker smirk wavered for a fraction of a second before he pasted it back on like a crooked mask. “Oh come on, I’m just having some fun,” Cameron blurted out, raising his hands in a defensive gesture that felt more like a mockery. “On the wrong side of the track, Cam,” the guy in black said. Every word he uttered felt like a sharp knife slicing through the air. He didn’t take a single step forward, yet he seemed to command the entire space around us. “I was just looking for a suitable opponent...” Cameron uttered. Amusement was evident in his voice, but it was the kind of amusement that precedes a grenade detonating. The guy in black paused for a second. It was a minute, almost imperceptible hesitation, as if he knew exactly that Cameron was setting a trap. It wasn’t visible on him—to the rest of the crowd, he remained that icy statue—but I registered that slight hitch. “And who did you pick?” he asked him sharply. Each word cut through the silence like a razor. Cameron smiled at him with that repulsive grin. He observed him as if this exact moment was what he’d been aiming for—to throw him off balance, to disrupt his untouchable aura. Slowly, theatrically, he raised his hand until his long, tattooed finger pointed directly at me. “Her,” Cameron said, his voice sounding like gravel grinding together. In that instant, the guy in black slowly, very slowly turned and looked at me. Our gazes locked. It was as if time ground to a halt. Every sound—the roar of engines, the cheering of the crowd, Tyra’s terrified breathing—vanished. Only his eyes existed. They were blue, sharp, and deep as an ocean beneath a glacial ice sheet. An unbelievable cold resided within them.
